


Bumps, Grazes and Kisses

by Flatfootmonster



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Even is a bar manager, First Kiss, First Meetings, Isak is drunk, M/M, Scuffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flatfootmonster/pseuds/Flatfootmonster
Summary: “What am I usually like?” he asked tentatively.The last strip had been placed over the cut, but the guys hands lingered on his face, smoothing gently over his work with a thumb. “Usually you just seem to be waiting for something to happen.” And the small smile that Isak caught playing on his lips was different somehow; he knew exactly what that something was. “But today you were even dancing—it was shocking.” His words were heaped with feigned scandal and it was Isak’s turn to laugh. This was nice.“Me dancing or my dancing?”The guy tilted his head to one side and arched an eyebrow as he sat back in his seat, and Isak was already reproachful of the space widening between them. “Lets just say I see why you don't usually dance.” But he laughed the words playfully.





	Bumps, Grazes and Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> I am majorly distracting myself.
> 
> But have a thing...
> 
> Becs <3

The bass seemed to pass through Isak like he was made of water. He felt fluid; the lights flickered and dimmed and his surroundings would shift and warp. He was drunk, again. Where Eva was, he had no fucking clue. 

But this was the intent, even drunk as he was, Isak knew what he was aiming for—why he came, again and again, and stayed until he was dragged out a stumbling mess. No one else had caught on yet, despite his instance they wind up here—at this club— at the end of every night they were out. And that was surprising really, considering the fact Isak would never set foot in a place like this; they played corny music and the crowd was generally a herd of posers. 

It wasn't his scene at all but there was someone here that was his type and it was pretty obvious that  _ he _ knew exactly why Isak kept coming back to prop himself up somewhere, drinking excessively to pull together some semblance of nerves. But every time Isak would completely overshoot the mark until he could barely speak at all. And then there was no fucking point in anything, he would just make a fool of himself—he was already doing that just by being here. 

That feeling of awkward, foolishness wasn't enough to stop him—even though each visit was fruitless. It would be the same routine: he'd order at the bar, placing himself where the guy was serving. If he was sober, Isak would cringe at how obvious this must be, but right now he was drunk and he didn't care. 

When he would order, the guy would smile and Isak was convinced there was something more in the way he looked at him, and then lean in a little closer than was necessary to hear the stuttered order over the music. Tonight Isak thought that he'd laughed when the the words had come out in a tumble, taking three attempts before something legible was said. 

Then Isak would bolt away from the bar as fast as he could, and yet never wander too far. His eyes would scope out the crowd, always returning to where he wanted to be. And then the movements and interactions of the guy would be analysed; maybe he did smile that way at everyone after all. Isak would start to doubt what he thought might be a mutual attraction. When you're a bar manager you have to be pleasant to everyone, right? The doubts led to more daring trips to the bar, each time more ungainly than the one before, until the night seemed a blur—travelling from one spot and back again while the noise of the room overpowered everything else. 

By the time they emptied out into the night, and Isak was pulled into a taxi alongside Jonas or Vilde— _ or whoever _ —to be inevitably prodded at with jibes made about not being able to hold his liquor, Isak would be regretting everything. Then he'd make solemn vows never to come back and to stop embarrassing himself.  _ Occasionally _ he would prove them right by yelling at the driver to stop before he'd throw a door open and hurl the contents of his stomach out onto the asphalt. 

He needed to stop doing this, but it would only be a matter of days that would pass until someone would suggest a get together and it would all seem like such a good fucking idea all over again. 

This time he'd grab that guy, when he leant in, and kiss him—Isak would imagine  _ that _ would wipe the smile off his face. But then drink and doubts would start the uncontrollable spiral. And all the  _ this-time's  _ became fantasies that he told himself would never amount to anything. 

Isak frowned down at his feet. Were they his feet? They were moving.  _ Was he dancing? _ His head shot up, which was a bad fucking move because it sent him off balance and he stumbled into whoever was next to him. Luckily, whoever that person was, just helped steady him.

Slurring an apology, Isak found a wall to slump against. Dropping his head back, he stared at the lights wishing he could be anywhere but here. It was a compulsion, coming again and again. As well as the elation he felt, when his heart hammered in his chest as that slow smile was aimed at him, he felt himself drowning. It wouldn't take long before someone figured it out, and know why Isak never really dated nor took any girl seriously. 

His palms were sweaty where they pressed to the wall, which thumped against his back with the beat of whatever terrible song was playing. He needed to go and now. 

Pushing away from the wall, Isak locked his gaze on the general direction he thought the exit might be in. He'd probably be able to make it if the room didn't keep spinning and zooming in and out of focus. Bodies pressed against him, jostling him off course, but he managed to keep the green rectangle—that he was sure said exit—in sight. 

He was within arms reach of escape when Isak heard a shout come from his left. But he didn't have time to turn to whatever commotion was occurring before someone was catapulted into him so forcefully that they must have been pushed. Then something sharp—it could have been an elbow but it really didn't fucking matter what it was—smacked against the side of his head. 

Isak was sent sprawling, spinning chaotically through erratic strobes until his back hit the floor, his skull thudding down a microsecond later. Everything went blank for a heartbeat before rushing back to him like a tidal wave: sounds, smells and lights. 

He knew that had all hurt a lot more than he could sense right now; his alcohol jacket was fairly thick by this point, but he could still feel the warmth of the impact on his face and his head already. Blood instantly began pounding where the blows had landed—and not to the beat of the song blaring around him. This would be worse than a hangover, he concluded, squeezing his eyes closed. Maybe he could just lie here and die… 

But the universe denied him any scrap of dignity and hands began pawing at him, pulling him to sit up right as he whimpered pathetically at the unfairness of it all. His heart beat rang in his ears and his stomach spasmed in sharp nausea. He wasn't sure how many people were around him but he wasn't about to open his eyes and find out. Words were passed over his head, and from the few scraps that made sense, it sounded as though people were being thrown out by security. So it had been a fight. Wrong place, wrong time; typical fucking Isak. 

“Can you stand?” Someone asked him

There was still too much noise for Isak to figure out who it was and he stubbornly held his face in his hands. But what sort of question was that? Of course he could stand. 

“Of course I can.” He mumbled back. But the tips of his fingers on his right hand were wet. Drawing his hands back, he peered down at the red slick of his own blood. Well, fuck. “I'm gonna die.” Isak wasn't sure if it was a statement or a damn wish. But, fuck it, if things couldn't get any worse he was bleeding all over himself because of a fight he wasn't even a part of. 

Whoever it was chuckled, which under normal circumstances would have made Isak scowl. “You're not gonna die.”

The hands pulled him to his feet, while Isak tried to bat the assistance away with his non-bloodied hand. 

“ _ I'm fine _ ,” he proclaimed vehemently to the ground. 

“No, you're not.” The statement was final.

Before Isak could protest and carry on with his escape, the hands on him were guiding him through the crowd in a different direction. Normally, he would assert himself, but he was still trying to make sense of what had just happened. Sure, it wasn't malicious towards him, but it had still fucking hurt. Fingers felt tentatively at the back of his head and he winced when he discovered the knot already forming. 

“Watch your eyes,” said the voice before he heard a light switch being flipped. Isak had to blink before adjusted to the warm glow, a contrast after the dark club, and the music was low and muffled now. They were in an office, why was he in an office? Where the fuck had he been moved to? 

“You should sit,” the person said. Who was he with? But first his eyes scanned the room for a chair— that he found at his side and unceremoniously slumped into—before he tried to work out who was apparently trying to look after him. 

They had their back to him, reaching up to a shelf above a computer; the white shirt he wore strained across his shoulders. Isak couldn't fully appreciate the sight before him, because he now knew who it was. It was  _ the _ guy, and he was turning back now. 

Dropping his eyes, Isak’s tongue felt like a dead weight. He could do nothing but stare mutely into his lap, watching as blood droplets made an abstract pattern on his jeans. 

Sobriety had never dawned on him so fast, he could still feel numbness in his fingers and the alcohol would undoubtedly inhibit his physical movement, but his brain was whirring furiously to function as efficiently as possible. What the fuck was he supposed to do? This was a goddamn nightmare. 

Panic flared in him as a second chair was dragged into the area of floor Isak’s eyes were glued to, and the guy sat down. All Isak could make out was his knees, there was no way he could look him in the eye.

Something was placed on the desk at their side and then clasps opened: a first aid kit, Isak figured. He should really say thanks, show his appreciation in some coherent fashion but all he was currently doing was making an  _ uhh _ noise. Before anything more poignant could come, his need to talk was bypassed by a cold sensation placed in his hand: an ice pack. 

“Hold it to your head.” This was the first time Isak had actually heard his voice clearly, it was deep and soft and it made all the water in his mouth evaporate. “It should bring the swelling down.” 

“Thanks.” Isak was immensely proud of himself that, firstly, he'd recovered the ability to speak, and, secondly, he'd said something that made sense and his voice hadn't broken. He could do this, it was just talking after all. 

“I'm gonna need to see your face to patch you up.” The sentenced seemed to be delivered with a smile, despite the fact Isak couldn't see him to know for sure.

He swallowed.  _ That _ he might not be able to do, but the words were a gentle persuasion and Isak felt himself tilting his head up to briefly meet ice blue, large eyes before his gaze skittered to anywhere else in the room. There was a stack of books on the shelf and so Isak tried to focus on their spines while he found his own. But he didn't get much further than the first ominous title— _ Shooting to Kill _ —before his attention broke on a hiss that forced its way from Isak’s mouth. 

The guys fingers stilled on his face, where something cool was being dabbed. His actions were as tender as his voice. 

“Sorry, it's just a wipe. It'll clean the cut; it's not deep but there will be bruising.” 

Isak could feel those eyes studying his face. Was he just looking at the damage done or was it as intimate a gaze as it seemed? Isak licked his lips trying to work out how to respond beyond thanking him again. 

“You should see the other guy. I know I didn't,” he managed to quip. 

And just like that, the nervous tension snapped; Isak managed to make the guy laugh  _ and _ intentionally this time. Grinning, he stole a fleeting glimpse of the face studying his own. He hadn't been wrong to keep coming here; sometimes Isak would tell himself that he couldn't have been that good looking, that it was all the alcohol and a stupid amount of pent up sexual frustration that grew his obsession. But the reality was this guy was hot: his hair was swept up and styled neatly, his lips were full and he had the kind of bone structure you'd expect a movie star to have—and Isak wouldn't even get started on those eyes that he could get lost in.

Blinking away, he looked for those books again to distract himself. He needed to think about something else because if he kept focussing on how close they were and the fact the guys hands were on him this could turn embarrassing very quickly...

“You're icing your neck.” 

.. too late. Isak could feel the words were spoken through a grin now. But he was right, while trying desperately to distract himself, his hand had slipped. 

“Oh,” he muttered, his cheeks felt hot as he moved the ice pack back to the knot. Clenching his jaw, Isak focussed on holding it in the right place. He would be the best damn ice pack holder there had ever been.

“And they were girls.”  

Isak frowned at the statement.  _ Who _ were girls? “ _ What _ ?” 

“The fight—girls.”

“Oh, great,” Isak mused dryly. On top of it all he'd been  _ accidently _ knocked out by a girl. Was there a chivalrous way he could spin this? 

“An elbow is an elbow—you didn't see it coming,” the guy said, absolving him of some of the scorn Isak was silently inflicting on himself.

“I guess.” Isak’s eyebrows drew together as the statement sunk in, “You saw what happened?”

“Sure. You were drunker than usual; I was trying to keep an eye on you.” 

Keep an eye on him? Was that normal bar manager behaviour? “ _ Than usual _ ?” And this time Isak caught a glimpse of that smile when he dared to glance at the guy. It was even more devastating up close.

“You usually end up wasted, but not  _ this _ bad. Although, you’re sobering up quickly.” He sounded impressed, and Isak couldn't help but feel a little proud—even if it was in something as dumb as this.

“That'll happen when you get knocked out by a girl,” Isak said, grinning again at the laughter he earned. 

But the warming sound dwindled as the guy reached towards the kit and picked up some steri-strips. “Hold still,” he murmured. Everything about him smelt fresh to Isak, including his breath, which was like a cool minty mist dancing across his skin. Immediately, self consciousness settled on Isak—he definitely wouldn't smell pleasant. To counter the negativity, words replayed in his head:  _ You usually end up wasted, but not this bad. _ So, the guy had noticed him? Isak couldn't imagine he'd keep track of all his regulars and their general level of sobriety. 

“What am I usually like?” he asked tentatively.

The last strip had been placed over the cut, but the guys hands lingered on his face, smoothing gently over his work with a thumb. “ _ Usually  _ you just seem to be waiting for something to happen.” And the small smile that Isak caught playing on his lips was different somehow; he knew exactly what that something was. “But today you were even dancing—it was  _ shocking _ .” His words were heaped with feigned scandal and it was Isak’s turn to laugh. This was nice.

“ _ Me _ dancing or  _ my _ dancing?” 

The guy tilted his head to one side and arched an eyebrow as he sat back in his seat, and Isak was already reproachful of the space widening between them. “Lets just say I see why you don't usually dance.” But he laughed the words playfully. 

Isak shot a shocked expression back at the jibe. “What are you talking about? I'm a master of dancing.” 

“It didn't look like that.” And he did something with his eyebrows again that did something entirely new to Isak’s stomach. How could he be so damn hot? 

“Yeah, well, I've drunk a lot,” Isak spluttered in his defence. 

“You'll have to show me sober then someday.” The guy was smiling again, it seemed his natural state: happy and approachable. Isak began to wonder why this had all seemed so daunting, but before he could re-word his intended reply— _ it's a date— _ the guy went on. “So, why do you get so drunk? It doesn't look like you're having fun.” The question might be probing from anyone else, but from him it felt like an opportunity to talk; to open up. But where did he begin?

Shrugging, Isak replied with the simplest of explanations. “Courage, I guess.” 

The conversation had come to a fork, they both knew what Isak meant by it and they could either go the light-hearted route and dance around the point or they spoke honestly. Isak chewed his lips as he waited for the guy to decide where it went. 

“I didn't think I was  _ that _ scary.” And Isak sighed in relief at the honest approach chosen.

“Not you,” he shrugged, “I've just never done  _ this  _ before.” It was vague but hopefully he would understand. Isak dared to look up at him, he was nodding and wore a thoughtful expression; he understood.

“So, your friends, they think your straight?” 

Isak’s mouth fell open to argue the statement, but there was no point. It was accurate, it's just no one had said it aloud before. Instead he just nodded. “I guess the  _ courage _ didn't help.” Isak stared down at his feet dejectedly. But, really, was it that much of a big deal? Now that it had been said it didn't seem so bad.

“I think you're brave enough without it,” he offered. Isak focussed on the guys knees, not sure what to say. He didn't feel brave. 

It occurred to him that he should probably give his name, the guy was probably calling  _ him _ that guy in his own thoughts, too. But before he could remember what he was called, the knees edged closer to him as the space between them dwindled. 

Isak couldn't breathe and his brain stopped functioning entirely. Maybe he was just reaching for something? But that notion melted when hair tickled Isak’s cheek, and he felt warmth as the guys face moved towards him. 

And he didn't want to move away, he wanted this, but he was paralysed. A haggard breath rushed from him, his lower lip trembled as the air made it's exit and eyes closed just as the warmth of a second pair of lips ghosted at the corner of Isak’s mouth. 

“Can I kiss you?” The whispered words sent shivers up and down Isak’s spine. His brain was yelling  _ yes _ but he couldn't move his mouth. Maybe if he said something the moment would shatter and he’d wake up in bed alone. That's what this must be. But then the body heat generated close to his own and fingers that landed gently on his knee said that wasn't the case. This was real—it was happening.

With words evading him, Isak swallowed before tilting his head until his cheek brushed against the guys face. Lips hovering over lips, he took in a breath before the intended plunge into whatever was beyond. 

The harsh drum of knuckles against the wooden office door sent Isak flying back in his chair, his heart almost exploded out of his chest at the sudden intrusion. Who the fuck was that? 

His eyes darted from the door to the guy, who now mirrored Isak’s pose, sitting back in his seat and somehow managing a look of both annoyance and amusement. 

“Come,” he said loud enough to be heard on the other side of the divide. 

The door cracked open and two familiar faces peered into the room. 

“ _ Isak,”  _ Eva exclaimed, eyes alarmed once she took in his injuries. Noora peered over her shoulder, seeming to take in every detail in a matter of moments. “Are you OK?” she added, edging her way into the office. 

“The barmaid said you were in here,” Noora stated, her tone calmer and with a smile aimed at Isak. She could see he was OK, what else could she see though?

“I'm fine,” he began, trying figure whether he wanted to stand and escape the predicament or if he wanted to stay put because that kiss had been so close. He settled on staying where he was, mostly because he wasn't sure his legs were going to work right now. “It was just a scuffle I walked into,” he laughed nervously, trying to diffuse their concern enough so they would leave. “And—er,” fuck, he still didn't know the guys name, “he fixed me up.” Isak cringed inside as he gave the other man an apologetic smile. 

“He was very brave,” he said in response, smirking back before he stood and, closing the first aid kit, he moved to return it to the shelf. 

Isak’s mouth fell open, an irrational need came over him to reach out and grab hold of the guy so he didn't leave, tell him not to move away from the moment they almost claimed. 

Clearing his throat he turned back to his friends, unable to control the frown that drew his eyebrows together. “What did you want?” He probably should have said that in a less gruff voice. 

Eva looked back at Noora in confusion at Isak’s irritation, but Noora’s eyes moved quickly between Isak and the guy before her smile curved up on one side, her head tilting as something quite visibly dawned on her. She'd worked it out and Isak’s mouth went dry. 

“The taxi will be here any minute-” Eva began, still perplexed at why they would even be quizzed at coming to find him. But her words stalled when Noora gripped her elbow. 

“We can wait,” she informed Eva, trying to be discreet for which Isak blessed her for silently.

“Wait for what?” Eva asked, her expression now inquisitive and divided between the three other people in the room.

Isak turned wide eyed back to the guy, leaning against his desk casually and his expression was one of pure amusement now. But he only had eyes for Isak. What should he do? 

“What's going…” Eva's words trailed off, but Isak wasn't paying her any attention anyway because his legs  _ did _ work and they were currently taking him towards the desk—to the guy. If everyone was going to know, he may as well give them a show. 

Isak stopped toe to toe with him, and he had to work his mouth before he could use it. “Isak,” he blurted out, apparently this was a good time for introductions and poorly phrased ones at that. Jesus, he was bad at this. 

The smirk he was given was almost a laugh, of course he'd figured out his name. Eva had just called him by it. But he nodded, eyes soft and fond as he took in Isak. “Even,” he replied. 

“Even,” Isak repeated quietly and in a stupor. Well, that was one of three things he intended to obtain. And Even just watched him back, intrigue dancing in his eyes at what Isak intended to do as he hesitated on the spot. 

“Yes,” Isak stammered, hoping the delayed answer would be understood. 

_ Yes, please kiss me, I don't care who sees.  _

The words were plead in his mind, his mouth too preoccupied with the thoughts of how the kiss might feel to utter them. His lips looked so soft...

But Even got it, pushing away from the desk he crowded Isak, hands moving up to cup his face. The last thing Isak was aware of, before he closed his eyes and his face was tenderly tilted up to meet Even’s, was a small and sharp gasp of surprise coming from across the room that he assumed was Eva. 

But then everything winked out of existence as lips found his own—they  _ were _ soft. Their mouths merged carefully once, before Even tilted his head and Isak followed suit. He'd sigh a long breath of relief if his mouth wasn't currently occupied. Hs lips were teased apart by Even’s before the warmth of his tongue coaxed against Isak’s. 

A thumb stroked reverently over his cheek as the kiss deepened and Isak realised he was clinging to the front of Even’s shirt—it was probably the only thing keeping him upright because his knees wanted to buckle under his own weight. 

By the time they drew apart, Isak was breathless, but he had no problem staring back into the eyes that held his. 

“Was that OK?” Even muttered, low enough just for the both of them to hear. Isak could only nod, he couldn't feel his mouth—or the rest of his body for that matter. “Are  _ you  _ OK?” 

Of course he was OK, he was living his dream. “How could I not be?” Isak mumbled the words, not really knowing what he was saying. Maybe that was a little too desperate? Or needy? But Even’s smile just widened.

“Good,” he replied, before taking another light kiss from Isak’s mouth, leaving him wanting when he drew back. “Can you let me know you get home?”  

“I don't have your number…” Isak trailed off as a matt black business card with silver lettering was pulled from Even’s trouser pocket before it was pushed into the pocket of Isak’s plaid shirt. 

“Don't lose it.” He grinned down at Isak. 

Of course he wouldn't lose it, and it wouldn't matter anyway because Isak was going to save it in his phone as soon as he was on the other side of the door. And a text would probably be sent once he was in the taxi—then another when he got home. 

But instead of reassurance, Isak smirked right back. “I bet you give this out to all the boys— _ and _ girls.” Who was he to assume someone's preference was as straightforward as it appeared? 

Even feigned a thoughtful expression before replying. “Only the ones that get too drunk, can't dance, end up knocked out in fights they weren't involved in…  _ and _ have really intense eyes. My checklist is pretty specific.” 

Isak blushed as he huffed out a small laugh and dropped his eyes to where his fists were still bunching Even’s shirt. He released his hold, smoothing over the creases as he mumbled an apology. “I better go,” he added reluctantly.

But as he made to inch backwards, Even’s palm traced down his arm until his fingers curled around Isak’s hand, holding him still for a moment longer. 

“I'm free tomorrow, if you want to grab lunch?” His expression was so hopeful, Isak was taken aback. Could Even want him just as badly as Isak craved for him? 

He found himself nodding vigorously. Fuck the world, fuck everything; this felt like it was the only matter of importance in this entire universe. “Cool—yeah—sure.” All the words he knew of affirmation came tumbling from him in one go.

That low laugh was expelled from Even, Isak was already accustomed to it. And for whatever reason it seemed to send a tingling sensation of adoration over his skin. 

Fingers loosed their grip and Isak was released. He didn't want to go, but now there was tomorrow. Tomorrow where he could make sure he was showered and fresh and as presentable as you could be with a bruised eye.

“Tomorrow then,  _ Isak _ .” 

The way his name was teased spoke of intentions and promises, Isak’s heart beat all the harder as he tried to imagine what they would consist of. 

Walking backwards a few steps, he managed his most mischievous grin. Maybe he could make Even’s pulse race just like his. “Tomorrow,  _ Even. _ ” By the way the gaze that held him darkened, Isak assumed it had worked. 

Turning, Isak had to stop himself from visibly flinching when two slack-jawed faces greeted him. He'd forgotten Eva and Noora were there. Instead he shrugged at them, before shaking his head. 

“Have you never seen people kiss before? Jesus Christ,” he grunted as he pushed past them and into the corridor. But he couldn't control the grin that almost split his face in two. 

As he reached for his phone and the card safely tucked in his pocket, he heard two sets of footsteps stalk to catch him up—and he found he didn't give a shit about the barrage of questions that were about to hit him.

****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was a failed attempt of a filthy nightclub blow job.... I'm not sure where I went wrong LOL
> 
> As usual, comments, criticism and suggestions welcomed.


End file.
